Untitled
by StillWaters1
Summary: She always knew it would end like this.


Title: Untitled

Author: Still Waters

Fandom: Star Trek TOS

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.

Summary: She always knew it would end like this.

Notes: The core of this piece was a scene in the last chapter of "Watching the Watcher" (which is still in progress), but it just didn't fit and I felt it took away from the storyline I was really trying to pursue. I was going to scrap it, but found that I liked some of the images too much, so I created this little snapshot using a few other discarded ideas, in the hope that it could stand alone as a small moment in a larger, untold tale. This is unbeta'd so please excuse any blatant errors. Thank you for your support.

* * *

"'Shi' is the Japanese word for 'death.' The number four is sometimes pronounced the same way so it's considered unlucky," Uhura said softly.

Christine's eyes widened as she leaned further back in the chair. "Shiforr. No wonder Sulu's been so stressed," she breathed. "It must feel like he's orbiting a planet of death."

Uhura shifted on her perch at the edge of the desk. "He's embarrassed. He insists it's just superstition, that he should be able to get past it….."

The ship-wide comm shot to life, cutting Uhura off. Christine's initial surprise at Scotty's voice dissipated quickly as professional training kicked in over sudden, gnawing dread. "Attention all hands, this is Chief Engineer Scott. Clear all decks between the main transporter room and sickbay. Repeat, clear all decks between the main transporter room and sickbay."

Uhura's eyes widened as she spun for the nearest comm to call the Bridge. Christine launched into emergency protocol, organizing the nursing staff as M'Benga rushed to her side, passing over a second tricorder.

"Mr. Roberts, report," Uhura barked into the comm, the unease at not being there for an emergency call written plainly across her face.

"This can't be good," Mara was muttering as she rushed by the gurney being wheeled just in front of the sickbay doors.

Christine had to agree. If the landing party hadn't called for a medical team to meet them in the transporter room, the injury had to have been sudden and catastrophic, with the landing party likely in immediate danger. Based on the barely concealed panic in Scotty's voice, she already knew they were looking at an initially critical patient being transported a distance they couldn't afford to travel.

Uhura looked up, relaying that Roberts had received an emergency beam-up signal – no direct voice transmission and no incident report. Christine rushed over to the comm. "Chapel to Transporter Room. Mr. Scott, what's going on?"

"Lass, they're bringin' him down now. Whatever blood you've got down there, he's gonna need it," Scotty's shaky voice responded.

Dammit. She hated when they couldn't communicate with McCoy while he was en route – his initial orders and assessment saved a lot of time once the patient hit sickbay. "Which one, Scotty? The Captain or Mr. Spock?" Christine demanded. 'Blood' was too vague – she knew Kirk and Spock's blood type by heart, but she needed to know which one to pull.

Scotty's reply was cut off by two figures bursting into sickbay with a panicked shout for help.

Christine's stomach clenched. A shout for help.

Not a Georgia-thickened rush of orders.

Uhura gasped.

Christine looked up…

…and into the cold face of superstition turned reality.

Kirk was cradling McCoy's limp body to his chest, jaw clenched tight, wild hazel eyes bright with shock. Spock ran alongside the Captain and slightly to the front, desperately attempting to staunch the blood pulsing from the physician's abdomen, dark eyes swimming with unshielded anguish.

Pulsing.

Arterial.

Abdomen.

_Shit._

Words began flying through the air as Kirk and Spock relinquished McCoy to the already moving gurney. 'B+', 'full support', 'fibrephyton injection', 'pressure packing.' Christine's world narrowed to red - red on blue, on gold, on hands, arms, chests, abdomens, faces…..red everywhere except where it was supposed to be.

Kirk's voice was gray through the red…the white of shock melding with the black of despair. "We started finding the bodies outside of town. Bones was treating an injured Shiforri when a Shiforra came out from the rocks and said that anyone helping the enemy would die like the enemy. Bones refused to move….." Kirk's voice broke, "….and they stabbed him. Speared him straight through, then kicked him off." His hands clenched angrily. "Bastards couldn't even give him that chance….."

Christine sighed, a heavy mixture of frustration, admiration, and understanding. Of _course_ he wouldn't move.

M'Benga stopped the gurney halfway to surgery. "Mara, I need a laser scalpel," he ordered as he lifted his hands from the wound and began removing the pressure packing they had just applied.

Christine's stomach dropped as she realized what was coming. The monitors were screaming, McCoy was hemorrhaging faster than they could pump the blood in, Elise was already intubating and placing the life support sensors as his vitals continued to crash, and M'Benga knew they weren't even going to make it into surgery unless they stopped the bleeding NOW.

Christine barely had time to warn Kirk and Spock before M'Benga began cutting into McCoy's abdomen. Kirk, all tense muscles and anguished shock, seemed to struggle between rushing the gurney and swaying on his feet. Spock's steady arm both held him back and kept him upright, lingering on for an emotional support that the Vulcan would never admit that he needed too. Uhura quietly moved to Kirk's other side and laid a gentle hand on his arm, manicured fingers squeezing trembling flesh. Christine couldn't help but ache at the sight of someone besides McCoy taking that supportive position. She watched Kirk give the barest of nods of acceptance and tried to ignore the shudder that went through him as he glanced at Uhura, her uniform red seeping into the monochromatic reminder of life's fragility currently spattered across his chest.

As Christine held the scanner over the site to pinpoint the bleed with one hand and prepped the artery clamp with the other, she found her mind drifting. From the moment she had met Leonard McCoy, Christine knew that the same passion and dedication to life that illuminated every bounce, rant, and flash of stunning blue would also be the thing to extinguish that light from this world. And as positive as Kirk and Spock's presence was, it did nothing to ease her concern. Neither Kirk, Spock, nor McCoy would leave this world without the other two at his side. Christine knew that just as surely as she knew McCoy's oath would lead him here.

M'Benga pulled his hand from McCoy's abdomen, grabbed the arterial clamp, and locked it into place.

"Lock confirmed," Christine reported, eyes flying over the scanner readouts as the blood flow finally slowed.

M'Benga grabbed more pressure packing and buried his hands back into the rest of the wound. "Go!" he pushed toward surgery.

Christine rushed alongside the gurney, dumping the scanner on the mattress so she could swap out another depleted blood unit for a new one.

Southern stubbornness.

Boundless compassion.

Hippocrates.

A giver of life on a planet of death.

She always knew it would end like this.

And as Christine glanced back at Kirk and Spock through the closing doors of the surgical suite, she had only one thought…..

Not today.

…..Please don't let it be today.


End file.
